


First Impressions Aren't Everything

by charlesdk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Humor, M/M, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Minor T'Challa/Sam Wilson, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Social Anxiety, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, bucky is a Gay Disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesdk/pseuds/charlesdk
Summary: "Why does it matter anyway? He’s obviously straight.""Steve goes on a bisexual rant at least once a week," Sam says. "He is definitely not straight."Okay, then he's not interested, Bucky wants to say but even he isn't blind enough to not have noticed the way Steve blatantly checked him out earlier.





	First Impressions Aren't Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dumb thought at 2 am, as you do, and then this fic happened.

Bucky has been home for almost a whole year now and he still hates having to leave his bed in the morning or noon or whenever, especially if it's to go to his VA group meeting and talk about his feelings. It's not a bad place, it has actually helped him a lot during this past year, but it hasn't gotten any less exhausting to open up which is what makes him less than thrilled to go.

He would much rather stay in bed and sleep the day away because sitting in group and having to face his demons will only leave him in a grumpy mood. Then again, what doesn't leave him in a grumpy mood these days?

“You falling asleep over there?”

Bucky cracks an eye open and scowls up at Sam who grins back at him. He grunts and shifts where he's sitting on a chair that's just short of uncomfortable, his arm laying lazily over his stomach and his legs spread wide in a relaxed posture.

Around him, people are moving. Clearly he dozed off for longer than he planned to because group is over and everyone is getting ready to leave now.

“Shut up,” he mumbles and closes his eyes again.

“You know,” Sam continues, not listening to him, “there are way better places to nap than here.”

Bucky hums in reply but doesn't bother opening his eyes again.

Sam is great. He's another guy in Bucky's group here at the VA. He talks about losing his partner in the sky during the tour that became his last and hurting his leg when he crash landed, so now he walks with a limp.

Sam has been going to these group meetings for as long as Bucky has, probably even longer. They met here months ago but didn't talk for weeks, not until someone brought up _don't ask, don't tell_ and they both shared a look from across the circle that became exasperated when the person continued.

Bucky likes to think they're saltmates, like soulmates but with less romance and extra salt.

“Come on,” Sam says and kicks at his foot. “Stop being a grumpy ass and get up.”

“I'm always grumpy,” Bucky says.

“Then continue to be grumpy and get up anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because this ain't exactly the place for sleeping.”

“It is now, I just decided.”

Sam scoffs at him, and Bucky tries to bite back a grin but fails. He ends up getting kicked at again, so he kicks back this time.

“You're a shit, Barnes,” Sam says. “Get your lazy ass up.”

Bucky lets out a heavy sigh, drawing it out until it turns into a resigned groan. He stands and stretches, then he grabs his jacket and shrugs it on, getting Sam to help him clip the empty left sleeve up to where his stump ends; only a few inches above where his elbow used to be.

Side by side, they leave the room and head out into the hall. Bucky rubs at his eyes and yawns, elbowing Sam in the side when he chuckles and calls him an old grandpa. He's not wrong though. Bucky is getting old. Old and tired and grumpy.

God, he really is an old fucking man.

They pass a few people on the way out of the building, like Frank who only comes around once in a while and stays mostly to himself and Katrina who's one of the counselors here. Frank doesn't return Sam's silent greeting but Katrina does, smiling and telling them both to have a good day.

“You still plan on becoming like her?” Bucky asks as he pushes the door open.

Sam steps out and asks, “A counselor, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe,” Sam says with a shrug. “I think it'd be nice.”

“Nice,” Bucky repeats flatly. “Sure. Listening to people tell war stories sounds _nice_.”

“If you're just gonna mock me, you can shut the hell up.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but says nothing but a mumbled, incoherent mocking.

They walk about a block in silence, Sam on Bucky's left. They live in the same direction, Sam closer than Bucky, so they usually walk to the subway together unless Sam gets a ride from his boyfriend. Sometimes Bucky will too but that's only when he decides he's too tired to walk.

He likes Sam, he does, and his boyfriend is okay too but they're still in that lovey-dovey phase and Bucky is single and slightly bitter and wants none of that.

“Hey,” Sam says, breaking the silence. “You wanna stop by my place for a bit?”

Bucky purses his lips, scrunches his nose. “I don't know,” he mumbles uncertainly.

“Come on,” Sam says and nudges at his side lightly. “I've got ice cream in the freezer.”

Bucky stops walking and narrows his eyes at Sam when he stops too and turns to him with a grin.

“You know,” Bucky says, “tempting me with that is–”

“Absolutely gonna work,” Sam finishes, cutting him off. “It does every time. Now, come on.”

“Yeah, alright.”

 

★ ★ ★

 

Sam lives in a three bedroom apartment with two other people. Despite having known each other for as long as they have, Bucky has never actually met Sam's roommates. He has heard a lot about them, mostly in the form of complaints, but that's it. Anytime Bucky comes around, it just happens to be when the apartment is empty.

A part of Bucky used to think that Sam did it on purpose for whatever reason, but he knows that isn't the case now. Both because Sam told him that both of his roommates are very outdoorsy and because he has, on several occasions, asked Bucky to come over to meet them.

Bucky has always said no, though.

It's a nice apartment, much nicer than Bucky's own apartment that's about the size of Sam's living room, maybe a bit bigger but not much. His only houses himself and not three people though, so it makes sense that it isn't much bigger than that. Bucky likes it like that anyway, likes that it's so small. That and he can't afford bigger.

Bucky's favorite part of Sam's apartment has always been the freezer. More often than not, Sam has it filled to the brim with ice cream. He says both him and his roommates eat it regularly but Bucky has never seen it not full so he doubts that.

They end up sitting around the table in the kitchen; Sam sprawled out on one side with his bad leg elevated and a container of ice cream that he's eating directly out of resting on his stomach, while Bucky sits on the other side, hunched over the table and struggling.

Every time he digs his spoon into the ice cream and applies the smallest amount of pressure, the container scoots along the table because he doesn't have a grip on it to keep it still and he doesn't have the patience or the self control to wait until it's melted a little. It's annoying and he's getting increasingly more and more angry, just about ready to give up.

Sam is watching him. Sam is also trying not to laugh like the asshole he is, and that doesn't really help.

“Need any help?” Sam asks after two miserable minutes.

“No,” Bucky insists firmly and stubbornly.

He ends up pushing the container against the wall by the end of the table, finally getting a spoonful of ice cream up. He smiles triumphantly at Sam as he sticks the spoon in his mouth, the ice cream cold and delicious on his tongue.

Sam snorts and says, “Good job, man.”

“You're an asshole,” Bucky says around his mouthful.

“I know,” Sam says and scoops up another spoonful. “It's why we get along so well.”

Bucky hums in agreement, eyes closing as the ice cream melts on his tongue. He can already feel himself becoming less grumpy and more relaxed, ice cream always seems to do that. It's like magic and Bucky wants to eat himself fat in it.

They fall silent for a while, both too busy shoveling ice cream into their mouths to keep up a conversation. Bucky is happy to sit here in silence, his sour mood forgotten by the time he sticks the seventh spoonful into his mouth. Apparently that much is obvious because when he looks at Sam again, there isn't the usual teasing grin on his lips but rather an actual smile and Bucky finds himself smiling back.

Sam gives up about a third of the way through his ice cream. Bucky calls him a weakling and continues eating. He has barely made it a third of the way through his own ice cream though but that's nothing new. He likes to take things slow, that includes savoring his ice cream.

“Hey,” Sam says and leans back on his seat. “You ever thought about getting a prosthetic?”

“I used to have one,” Bucky admits. “Didn't like it.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something but before a single word can leave his mouth, the front door opens and brings in two voices that makes Sam close his mouth with an audible clack. Bucky doesn't recognize the voices. They drown out shortly after the door closes again and footsteps take their place for a few seconds before a woman steps into the kitchen.

Her hair is a flaming red and pulled into a sloppy ponytail, locks of hair escaping the elastic. She's in what appears to be workout clothes, her arms and stomach bare and showing off both skin and muscle. Her eyes are trained on Bucky and Bucky looks back, spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

It's a little uncomfortable, this prolonged staring contest that takes place in silence, but the eye contact breaks when the woman finally looks from Bucky to Sam. Her eyes shift to the ice cream that sits abandoned on the table and she visibly lights up, which nearly makes Bucky laugh.

He watches as she walks over, plops down on the chair next to Sam, and shovels a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth without a single word uttered.

Sam turns to her with a flat look on his face, the one that reminds Bucky of a disappointed parent, and this time Bucky does snort.

“Hello to you too, Nat,” Sam says.

“Hey,” the woman, whose name is apparently Nat, says and smiles. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

“Did someone say ice cream?”

Bucky turns to the new voice that joins them. The second his eyes land on the newcomer, his brain comes to a screeching halt and he feels his mouth go a little slack around the spoon that is still in his mouth even though the ice cream has already melted away.

This guy is... well, he's hot is what he is but he's stupidly hot. He's wearing a shirt that is probably a size too small judging by the way it clings to his muscular and, quite frankly, beefy body, leaving very little to the imagination. His pants, at least, are a little looser but they're sitting low on his hips, and Bucky knows that if he were to raise his arms, this guy would show off his abs.

If Bucky didn't think he was gay before, he certainly does now.

He quickly shuts down any and all kinds of attractions, however, when he sits back a little and takes in the whole view of this guy. Yes, he is stupidly hot but he's also wearing a cap backwards and looking like just about every frat boy that Bucky has ever hated being attracted to.

Bucky knows these kinds of guys; straight, casually mysoginistic, and obnoxiously annoying.

Bucky has had too many crushes on too many straight guys and he doesn't need that kind of heartbreak ever again. Whatever attraction he feels, he shuts down immediately and decides he hates this guy.

“I did,” Nat says as she digs her spoon into the ice cream. “But I'm not sharing.”

“It's not even yours to share,” Sam points out.

“I don't see your name on it.”

“I literally bought it.”

Nat shrugs and shovels another spoonful into her mouth without taking her eyes off of Sam.

Bucky looks away from them and shoots a glance over at Frat Boy again, only to find him already looking back at him. Not only that, but his eyes are moving down over Bucky slowly too while a small smile tries to form on his lips but his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, preventing it.

Bucky flushes when he realizes that Frat Boy isn't looking at him like that because of his missing left arm but because of something completely different.

Okay, so maybe not entirely straight.

Not that it changes anything.

Frat Boy's eyes move up to meet Bucky's, and Bucky glares in response to Frat Boy's smile.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sam says. “It only took us eight months to get here but you're finally meeting my roommates, Bucky.”

Bucky turns and makes a face at Sam.

“This is Bucky?” Frat Boy asks, then steps forward and holds out a hand. “Hey, I'm Steve. Sam has told us a lot about you.”

Bucky stares at the stretched out hand for an awkward few seconds. Looking up to meet Frat Boy Steve's eyes, he pulls the spoon from his lips, shovels up more ice cream, and plops it right back into his mouth without taking the offered hand in his own.

“Hey,” he greets back after an unnecessarily long pause.

Steve smiles at him, a little uncertain and a lot confused, and lets his hand drop. He doesn't seem very hurt though, which makes the bad, tight feeling in Bucky's gut loosen up a little. He just looks confused and awkward, both of his hands moving to his hips instead.

The movement stretches his shirt across his broad chest. Bucky bites down on the metal of the spoon in his mouth to keep himself from making any involuntary noises.

Frat boys... fuck boys... whatever you wanna call them... Bucky really hates them.

“And the asshole eating my ice cream,” Sam says, “is Natasha.”

Bucky turns and looks over at where Natasha has reclined in the chair, feet propped up on the table and spoon half in her mouth. They lock eyes and share a nod and a wave with their spoons.

“Hey,” Natasha says.

“Hey,” Bucky echoes.

“You're the reason our freezer is always stocked with ice cream, huh?” Natasha says, a crooked smile on her lips. “I like you.”

Bucky smiles a little and says, “Thanks.”

“He is not the reason,” Sam protests with a scoffs. “I buy ice cream for myself, he just eats all of it.”

“You offered,” Bucky says and sticks his spoon back into the ice cream.

The container slips slightly across the table, scraping against the wall when he tries to shovel some out. Natasha puts her hand on the other side within a second and holds it still while he scoops some up. He tries not to feel irritated by it but, well, it's better than looking like an absolute fucking idiot in front of Frat Boy Steve who is still watching him.

Bucky wants to punch him.

“Well,” Steve says after a minute. “While you're devouring ice cream, I'm gonna use the shower.”

He has barely taken a step out of the kitchen before Natasha springs up from her seat and rushes after him, which sends Steve into a sprint and they're out of sight in the blink of an eye.

“We agreed I'd use it first!” Natasha yells somewhere down the hall.

Steve's laugh is loud and infectious, and Bucky hates that it nearly makes him smile.

A door slams shut, a few bangs and more of that infectious laughter follow. Then the apartment falls quiet and Bucky shares a look with Sam who only huffs and shrugs in a silent _what can you do_ manner.

If this is how Sam's roommates always are, Bucky is glad he has always said no to meeting them.

Especially Steve the Frat Boy.

Who has a nice ass.

That Bucky definitely did not look at when he sprinted out of there.

Not even a little, no sir.

“He's single,” Sam says.

Bucky blinks owlishly. “What?”

“Steve,” Sam says and grins at him. “He's single, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't,” Bucky says slowly and pretends it's not a lie.

Sam raises a brow at him and says, “Dude.”

“What?” Bucky exclaims, flushing and glaring at Sam. “I wasn't!”

“Uh huh,” Sam says, giving him a look.

“Why does it matter anyway? He's obviously straight.”

“Steve goes on a bisexual rant at least once a week,” Sam says. “He is definitely not straight.”

 _Okay, then he's not interested_ , Bucky wants to say but even he isn't blind enough to not have noticed the way Steve blatantly checked him out earlier.

Bucky huffs, presses his lips into a thin line, and slumps down in his seat. He doesn't say anything but he does glares across the table when Sam laughs at him. It only makes him laugh harder, as does the kick that Bucky throws at him under the table.

Sam drops the subject which Bucky is grateful for because Natasha comes back into the kitchen no more than three seconds later, mumbling curses about how she's living with a bunch of assholes. She grabs Sam's ice cream again, this time right out of his hands.

Sam throws his hands out and gives her a look that she ignores.

“What was that you were saying?” he asks, reaching out for the ice cream.

Natasha shifts away and says, “I live with assholes.”

“I think you're all assholes,” Bucky mumbles into his ice cream.

Sam looks at him, smiles, and says, “You're gonna fit right in, then.”

Bucky smiles back at him, fake and wide.

Yeah, he's probably right.

 

★ ★ ★

 

Bucky loves mornings. Not because he likes waking up and getting on with the day, he fucking hates that. But he loves waking up in the late mornings and laze around in his bed, slowly climb his way out of dreamland and then tap around on his phone until well into the afternoon.

He loves it, loves not having to _be_ anyone for hours and hours after he's woken up. It gives him time to mindlessly scroll through the various social medias he's on, catching up on stupid memes and staring at pictures of cute dogs and cats and everything in between and around.

He's trying to get better at it, trying not to lay around for too long. It's part of his recovery, learning how to get out of bed quicker, and he's getting there. But some days, like today, he just does not want to and doesn't plan on getting up anytime soon either.

His plan of lazing around gets ruined, however, when a text from Sam pops up while he's watching a video of a rescue dog finding a home.

› From Birb, _10:48_ : come have brunch with me, steve and nat

Bucky makes a face at his screen and groans before he taps out a reply.

‹ To Sam the Birb, _10:49_ : no

› From Sam the Birb, _10:49_ : that wasnt a request

‹ To Sam the Birb, _10:50_ : dont tell me whatt o do

› From Sam the Birb, _10:50_ : i will literally come drag your ass out of bed

‹ To Sam the Birb, _10:52_ : how do u even kno im in bed

› From Sam the Birb, _10:53_ : when arent you

‹ To Sam the Birb, _10:55_ : … are u gonna pay for my brunch

› From Sam the Birb, _10:55_ : yes :)

‹ To Sam the Birb, _10:56_ : then fine!!! usual place?

› From Sam the Birb, _10:56_ : you got it

‹ To Sam the Birb, _10:57_ : cool

Bucky lets his phone fall onto his chest and buries his face in the palm of his hand. He groans and rubs the crust out of his eyes before he finally gathers the strength to sit up. The phone tumbles into his lap, landing softly on the duvet that's now pooled there. It takes him another minute to actually get out of bed, only doing so when his stomach grumbles impatiently.

He gets ready in minutes, slipping on a beanie to hide what a mess his hair is. He hasn't bothered getting it cut since he came back stateside and honestly? He doesn't plan on it either. He could probably make the long hair work and he kind of wants to try.

He shrugs on a jacket and gets the left sleeve sloppily clipped to his stump. It's a bit tricky to do it on his own but he manages, has learned how to. He gets his keys, his wallet, and his phone stuffed into his pockets, then he walks out the door and heads out of the building.

The usual place is a small diner a good twenty-six minute walk from Bucky's apartment. It's cozy and nice, serves great breakfast and has decent coffee, and the owner is nice too. He's a foreign guy named Adam. He's short but surprisingly beefy, and he always keeps their usual table cleared for them.

The place is openly queer friendly too, which is always a priority for both him and Sam.

Bucky spots Sam immediately when he walks through the front door of the place. Sam raises his hand in greeting, as if Bucky hasn't already seen him, and Bucky offers him a brief, tired smile in return when he sits down on the seat opposite him, wall to his left.

“Morning,” Sam says and gestures at him. “What's with the hat?”

Bucky shrugs and says, “Didn't feel like dealing with my hair today.”

Sam hums. “You ever thought about cutting it?” he asks.

“Nah, I don't wanna,” Bucky says and drops his eyes to the menu. “I'm gonna rock the long hair.”

Sam snorts and says, “Yeah, okay.”

“You'll see.”

Sam doesn't look entirely convinced.

Adam comes by their table to say hi, smiling at the two of them. He doesn't ask for their orders, even though they always get the same thing every single time anyway, because Sam tells him they're still waiting for their friends. He says it like Steve and Natasha are Bucky's friends too.

It takes another ten minutes before they show up. They're both wearing casual clothes, unlike the first time Bucky met them when they were both in sweaty workout clothes. That was almost a week ago now and Steve may be in casual clothes but he still looks like he just walked straight out of a fraternity.

Bucky quickly takes his eyes off of him and turns his attention downward instead. He doesn't like the guy, he reminds himself. Into guys or not, the guy still dresses like a goddamn frat boy and Bucky doesn't want anything to do with him.

Bucky hates that it feels like a lie, even when he only tells it to himself.

Natasha slides into the seat next to Sam and Steve slides in next to Bucky, making Bucky curse quietly under his breath and ignore the way his heart beats a little faster when Steve's knee knocks against his own.

Silently and in his mind, Bucky tells himself to stop it. He has standards, okay. He does.

“What the hell happened to your hand?” Sam asks, sounding a little startled.

It makes Bucky look up and over to Steve who brings his right hand up from under the table. It's bound in bandage, wrapped tight around his wrist and all the way up to his knuckles. Bucky hadn't even noticed until right then.

“He punched someone,” Natasha says. She sounds exasperated.

Sam's face falls into an unimpressed look that he directs at Steve. “Seriously?”

Steve smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “He deserved it,” he says.

“Okay,” Sam sighs, also sounding exasperated. “What was it this time?”

Steve is silent for a hesitating second. “Transphobe,” he says.

Bucky groans.

Of fucking course Steve is the kind of guy who punches transphobes, because why the hell not? Make a guy dress like a goddamn frat boy and make him crush every single frat boy stereotype with his literal bare hands.

Bucky doesn't realize that he groaned out loud, not until he finds all three of them looking at him with various degrees of confusion; Sam is more amused than confused, Natasha is tiptoeing on the line between amused and confused, and Steve is straight up confused with a hint of annoyed.

Bucky flushes and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Sorry,” he says in a mumble. “Just, ah. Transphobes, am I right?”

Slowly, the confusion and annoyance fade out of Steve's face and is replaced by a bright smile.

“Exactly,” he says with a nod. “I think punching that guy is justified. Don't you agree, Bucky?”

Bucky hums his agreement, nodding. He shoots a glance at Sam and glares when Sam gives him a knowing look in return.

Fortunately, Adam comes over to chitchat and take their orders right then which stops them from talking more about it and saves Bucky from feeling even more embarrassed. But what it doesn't do is distract Bucky from thinking about how close Steve is sitting to him.

It's not even that close, Steve keeps an appropriate distance between them now, but he's close enough that Bucky can feel the heat radiating from him.

God, the guy is like a fucking furnace.

Adam leaves them after minutes and minutes of talking, only walking away when one of his employees yells something in a language that sounds Scandinavian at him. Adam yells back, then smiles at them and leaves with their orders and a promise to be “back in a flash” with everything.

“So Bucky,” Steve says once Adam is gone, turning to him with a smile. “I didn't know that you were joining us today.”

Bucky shrugs and opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't get a word out.

“I'm surprised too,” Sam says. “I had to tempt him with free food to get him out of bed.”

Bucky turns a glare to him and says, “Thanks for making me sound like a lazy asshole.”

Next to him, Steve laughs.

“That's what you are though,” Sam says with a smile.

Bucky flips him off.

“Well, I'm glad you came,” Steve says. “You were gone by the time I stepped out of the bathroom, I didn't even get a chance to talk with you.”

“That's your own fault,” Natasha says. “You were in there for an eternity.”

“He always is,” Sam says. “And it's only to be a dick to the rest of us.”

“Get a bathroom schedule,” Bucky says, cutting Steve's protest off.

Sam throws his hands up and says, “That's what I've been saying!”

“That's what my family did,” Bucky continues, keeping his eyes on Natasha and Sam. “I grew up with four sisters and one bathroom. All of them took forever in the bathroom and so did I, so that helped a little.”

“Excellent idea,” Sam says, wagging a finger at him. “Thank you, Bucky. Guys, don't you think we should listen to Bucky?”

Natasha and Steve exchange a look. They both raise their brows simultaneously, like they're having a silent conversation which Bucky wouldn't be surprised by if that's the case. They seem to be pretty close, actually.

Bucky subtly shifts further toward the wall, creating space between himself and Steve and tells himself that the feeling in his chest isn't jealousy.

The silent conversation only lasts for a couple of seconds and ends when Natasha shrugs. They both turn to Sam and say, “Nah,” in unison.

“Where's the fun in that?” Steve adds with a wide and toothy grin.

Sam looks heavenward with a sigh. “I hate you both,” he says.

Their conversation is momentarily interrupted when Adam comes by and serves them both their food and their drinks. Bucky practically inhales his coffee the second it's handed to him while Adam kindly places his plate in front of him, now that his only hand is too occupied to take it himself. Bucky takes a sip and nods his thanks. Adam smiles in return, winks, and sets the rest of the table's plates down.

A silence lulls over them as they dig into their brunch, all of them clearly hungry.

Bucky finds himself glancing at Steve after a few minutes and sees him biting into a fresh melon slice from his bowl of fruit, but he quickly diverts his gaze when Steve glances back at him. He takes a long sip of his coffee and blames the heat in his cheeks on the steam rising from the cup.

“Hey,” Steve says after a minute. “What's it like growing up with four sisters?”

It takes Bucky a second to realize he's talking to him. When he does, he shrugs and says, “Loud.”

“I can imagine,” Steve says, nodding and stabbing his fork into an apple slice. “I mean, not really. I'm an only child and it was just me and my ma growing up, but that many siblings gotta be a lot to deal with.”

“Two is enough for me,” Sam comments around his mouthful.

“It's not so bad,” Bucky says. “You get used to it, I guess.”

“You the oldest?” Steve asks.

“Nah, Naomi is a couple years older than me.”

Steve hums in acknowledgment and nods. He falls silent for a minute, a minute that Bucky uses to set his coffee down and dig into his brunch, his stomach rumbling in a reminder that he should not fill it with nothing but caffeine.

Silently, he hopes that Steve won't continue talking to him but he's not so lucky.

“So, Bucky,” Steve says and turns to him with a smile. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I'd like to get to know you.”

Bucky pauses, side eyes Steve. “Why?” he repeats.

Steve shrugs, looking a little flushed. “You seem like a nice guy, I don't know.”

“Please,” Sam scoffs. “Bucky is a giant asshole.”

“No one was talking to you,” Bucky points out.

“Watch it,” Sam warns. “I'm paying for your food.”

Bucky glares and makes a face.

Natasha looks up from her phone and asks, “Are you paying for us?”

Sam raises a brow at her and says, “Oh, so now you can join the conversation.”

“I was talking with Sharon,” Natasha says but puts her phone down. “No offense, but I like her more than you guys.”

“Obviously,” Steve says with a snort. “We aren't the ones you're dating, after all.”

Natasha smiles at him. “Exactly.”

Bucky pauses mid chew and looks up. He blinks, staring across the table at Natasha.

“Dating?” he asks in a muffled mumble.

“Sharon's my girlfriend,” Natasha explains. “And much better than these idiots.”

“Ah,” Bucky says.

So Natasha and Steve aren't a thing. Not that Bucky cares. Obviously.

Belated, Bucky remembers that Sam told him that Steve is single.

Doesn't change anything, though. He still doesn't care.

“So you paying or not?” Natasha asks, head tilted toward Sam.

“Hell no,” Sam says. “You can pay for your own damn food.”

“But Bucky can't?”

“I'm his favorite,” Bucky says and picks his coffee up again. “Didn't you know?”

Next to him, Steve gasps dramatically. “Sam! You're not supposed to pick favorites.”

“Yeah, well, Bucky doesn't leave his shit everywhere,” Sam says, “so fuck you and pay for your own food. I'm not made of money.”

Steve slumps in his seat with a pout.

Bucky hates that it's adorable.

“Stop it,” Sam says and points a warning finger at Steve. “That's not gonna work on me.”

Somehow, Steve pouts even more.

“You're a little shit and I can't stand you.”

Steve's pout turns into a small smile. “So,” he drawls. “Does that mean you're gonna pay?”

“Absolutely not.”

Steve goes right back to pouting.

Bucky hides his laugh by taking a swig of coffee.

All things considered, brunch turns out to be pretty nice.

 

★ ★ ★

 

A week later, Bucky is back at the VA with Sam. It's one of his good days, this time. He doesn't have to drag his sorry ass out of bed or force himself to get up because he's already wide awake by the time his alarm goes off. He manages to stay awake all the way through group, Sam sitting next to him with his bad leg elevated on the empty chair on the other side.

Bucky even talks during group which he only does on the rare occasion that he has the courage to. It isn't much and he only talks to share a story from his time in the bunks because the subject comes up and he doesn't see why not, but it's better than his usual nothing.

It's an improvement, one that he knows he might not see again for a while. Recovery is hard.

After group is over, Bucky follows Sam out of the building to wait for his ride. Sam is having a bad leg day, apparently. Bucky has noticed; Sam is limping more than usual today.

“Went running with Steve yesterday,” Sam explains when Bucky asks. “I might have overdone it but you know what? I blame him, a hundred percent. That little fucker keeps trying to turn every run into a goddamn race.”

Bucky bites back a smile. “You could just say no,” he points out.

“And let him win?” Sam scoffs. “Hell no.”

T'Challa pulls up to the curb ten minutes later, stepping out of the car and walking around it to get to them. There's a soft smile on Sam's face when they meet halfway and they both lean in to greet each other with a kiss.

Bucky has the childish thought of gagging at them so he does, smiling innocently when Sam shoots him a glare over his shoulder.

To retaliate, because there always is a retaliation with them, Sam grabs the back of T'Challa's neck and pulls him in for another kiss, this one toeing the line of inappropriate.

T'Challa doesn't seem to mind, looking pleased as he kisses back and grabs Sam by the hips.

Bucky makes a face at them and suddenly regrets the gagging noise.

“Hello to you too,” T'Challa says when they part, a smile on his lips.

“Hey,” Sam says. “Bucky's an asshole.”

T'Challa nods and says, “I am aware of that.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says dryly.

Sam smiles at him and steps back from his boyfriend. He walks over to the passenger side of the car and opens the door but he doesn't get in.

Meanwhile, T'Challa turns to Bucky and asks, “Do you need a ride?”

Bucky only thinks about it for a second but he never gets to say anything, a _no thank you_ already on his lips, because then he notices Sam giving him a pointed look behind T'Challa while shaking his head frantically.

Bucky scrunches his nose as subtly as possible. He can take a hint.

“Nah,” he says to T'Challa. “I'd rather walk. Thanks, though.”

When T'Challa drives off with Sam in the passenger seat, Bucky stays rooted to the spot for a couple of second and looks after them until they're out of sight. He doesn't regret declining T'Challa's offer, that's not why he's not moving. He's not moving because he's trying to decide if he feels good enough to get something to eat or if he should call it a day and head straight home before things take a turn for the worse.

In the end, his sweet tooth decides for him and he starts walking down the street, heading toward the coffee shop that he goes to frequently. It's a good day, he got out of bed without much trouble. He deserves some kind of reward, he tells himself. Good days should be celebrated.

The coffee shop is a good thirty-six minutes away from the VA. Bucky decides that he is in no rush and strolls down the street instead of hurrying. There's no reason to. His anxiety hasn't made its usual appearance and the people around him don't make him terribly nervous, not even the ones giving him sideways glances.

He makes it about a third of the way to his destination, passing the park, when someone calls his name behind him.

“Bucky!”

Bucky stops and twists to look over his shoulder. He doesn't know why he's surprised to see Steve come jogging toward him, expertly swerving around the people on the sidewalk, but he is.

Three times in a couple of weeks? Bucky is starting to think the universe is trying to tell him something.

He holds back the urge to roll his eyes and continue walking to get away from Steve. Instead, he steps off to the side so he's not in anyone's way. He leans against the wall of the nearest building, hand buried in the pocket of his jacket, and lets his eyes wander back to Steve when he gets closer.

Steve has obviously been for a run or maybe he has just started. There is no way the shirt he's wearing is actually his size, it sits too tightly around his chest and biceps. But it does say _I'm just getting bi_ in the bisexual colors, so Bucky forgives it.

Steve is a little sweaty, a few locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks are slightly flushed as well, yet somehow he still looks gorgeous, practically even radiating. Who the fuck looks this good while on a run?

Bucky hates him a little bit.

“Hey!” Steve greets him as he comes to a stop in front of him, earbuds out of his ears and in his hand, the wire disappearing into his pocket.

“Hi,” Bucky greets back and keeps his eyes locked onto Steve's face.

“Fancy running into you here,” Steve says and shoots him a smile that can only be described as dorky.

Bucky rolls his eyes and says, “That was terrible. Even worse than your shirt.”

“What's wrong with my shirt?” Steve asks and looks down at himself.

“It's a terrible pun.” Bucky hates that he loves it anyway.

“I think it's a great pun,” Steve says, “and completely accurate.”

“Sure it is.”

“Anyway,” Steve says, moving on. “I was just getting started on my run when I saw you and I thought I'd come over and say hi, so... hi.”

He finishes with a dorky wave and a smile, his cheeks growing a shade redder.

It's almost too much, this guy.

“Hi,” Bucky echoes, then pauses for a second. “Do you ever not work out?”

Steve's smile turns into a grin and he says, “Stick around and maybe you'll find out.”

“Maybe I don't want to,” Bucky says with a casual shrug.

Steve's grin falls and fades into an expression that does very little to hide his disappointment. He nods and shifts back a few paces, the smile returning slowly but not as brightly as before.

“Okay,” he says. “That's okay.”

Bucky hates that look on Steve's face; that disappointed, kicked puppy face. It makes him feel a punch of guilt, makes his heart squeeze a little, makes him want to wrap him up and kiss his forehead.

Ugh. Gross.

Bucky thinks about leaving because that seems like the most natural thing to do after dismissing a person like that. But instead of moving, he finds himself leaning forward a little and sniffing the air briefly before he pulls back to make a face.

“I mean,” he says in a lighthearted tone. “You stink of sweat, so...”

Steve doesn't stink of sweat, at least not enough to be pungent or anywhere near bad but those are the words that come out of Bucky's mouth when he opens it. An insult feels appropriate after the mental image that just ran through his head anyway, so it's fine.

Besides, it makes Steve throw his head back and let out a hearty laugh that does _things_ to him, so it's not all that bad.

“You wanna go grab a coffee?” Steve asks once he's calmed down a little.

“I thought you were going for a run.”

Steve shrugs and says, “I'd rather have coffee, to be honest. I already ran this morning anyway.”

Bucky makes a face at him.

“I know,” Steve says with a chuckle, “but I like running.”

“You're fucking weird.”

“I am. Wanna grab a coffee with me anyway?”

Bucky thinks about it for a second, chewing on his lip.

“Fine,” he ends up saying. “But you're paying.”

Steve smiles at him, bright and toothy. “I was going to anyway,” he says.

“Of course you were,” Bucky mumbles to himself, low enough so Steve doesn't hear.

 

★ ★ ★

 

Bucky leads them to the coffee shop that he was heading toward, Steve walking on his left side with a bounce in his step. It's almost like he has a little too much energy in him and when Bucky points this out to him and says coffee might not be a good idea, Steve just laughs and tells him he'll get it out of his system later, whatever that means.

The coffee shop isn't too crowded, only a good handful of people sitting by the few booths and tables and three people standing in line. It's in the middle of the day on a normal week day, so it's not surprising that there aren't more people here.

Despite frequenting this place, Bucky doesn't recognize the barista who takes their orders. She must be new, he concludes before he drops his gaze to her name tag and sees that _Clarissa_ is indeed a new hire. She's nice.

Bucky does, however, recognize the barista who makes their coffees. His name is Scott and he greets him with a wide smile and an encouraging thumbs up when he spots Steve standing by Bucky's side, like Bucky bringing a “friend” is some sort of big achievement.

Bucky doesn't want to admit that it kind of is, actually.

Coffees in hand, they find a nice corner booth. They sit down, Bucky with his back to the wall and Steve with his to the door, and take a few sips of their respective coffees in silence. Bucky doesn't really intend on saying anything, eyes scanning the people in the shop, but Steve starts talking and makes him look at him instead.

“So,” Steve says, setting his coffee down with a smile. “I get the impression that you don't like me very much.”

Bucky blinks. He opens his mouth to say something but not a sound comes out.

“It's okay,” Steve says, his smile turning soft. “I know I can be a handful sometimes. I just thought, well, maybe I could try to change your mind. And since you agreed to get coffee with me, I think I stand a pretty good chance.”

Bucky closes his mouth when he realizes he's gaping. He stays silent for another few seconds, fidgeting in a nervous habit.

Steve doesn't lose the softness of his smile despite the prolonged silence where Bucky just stares at him. He keeps his eyes on him, the smile momentarily gone when he lifts the cup and takes a long sip, but then it's right back in place on his lips.

It makes Bucky feel... well, he's not sure how it makes him feel.

“It's not that I don't like you,” he finally says.

“No?” Steve asks, quirking a curious brow.

“No, it's just–” Bucky cuts himself off with a sigh and deflates a little in his seat. “I'm not good with people.”

“So the constant glaring at me is, what? Your way of saying you like me?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him.

“Ah, there it is again,” Steve says and puts a hand on his chest. “Makes me feel so liked.”

Bucky kicks him under the table and says, “You're a punk.”

“And you're a bit of a jerk,” Steve retaliates and captures Bucky's foot between his own.

“Are you five? Let go of my foot.”

“I'm not the one who kicked first,” Steve says. He doesn't let go.

“Steve,” Bucky says, warning.

“Yes?” Steve asks, smiling sweetly.

“Maybe I don't like you because you're a shit.”

“Oh, so you admit that you don't like me,” Steve says and slowly releases his foot.

Bucky tugs his feet under his chair. “I didn't say that.”

“You literally just did.”

Bucky blows out a breath, rolls his eyes, and says, “Fine, then that's not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I meant– I don't know, shut up.”

Cheeks warming, Bucky lifts his cup to his lips and takes a sip. He very pointedly looks away when Steve starts laughing and glares out the window to his left instead. That only makes Steve laugh harder for some reason. It almost, _almost_ , makes Bucky smile too.

“You're cute,” Steve says and rests his chin in his hand, elbow on the table between them. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Bucky lets his eyes drift back to Steve, his cheeks only getting warmer when he finds Steve looking at him with a soft smile on his lips. His heart does a funny somersault in his chest and he swallows thickly.

“You have a weird definition on cute,” he says.

Steve hums and says, “Maybe but that doesn't make you any less cute.”

Bucky makes a face at him, scrunching his nose.

“Especially when you do that,” Steve says with a chuckle.

Bucky rolls his eyes and groans. “Shut up,” he mumbles, face hot.

“Okay,” Steve says and leans back, sipping at his coffee. “But you're not gonna change my mind. I'm stubborn like that.”

“Yeah, I've noticed. Sam says you're too stubborn.”

“Do you agree?”

Bucky gives him a look. “I don't know you well enough.”

“We should change that,” Steve says and gives him a smile.

“If you're gonna be a stubborn ass and annoy me, I'd rather not.”

“Aw, come on. I've been told it's charming, actually.”

“That sounds like a lie. Who told you that, Steve?”

Steve's smile softens a little, then he says, “My mom.”

Bucky raises a brow. “Your mom told you being stubborn is charming?”

“Well,” Steve says and shrugs, eyes dropping downcast. “She might've been biased.”

Bucky blinks, face falling. The use of past tense throws him off a little, as does the slightly saddened look on Steve's face. It doesn't take him long to put two and two together and, when he does, he decides to divert the conversation and change subject before this gets too heavy and gets screwed up.

He's not sure why he cares.

“So,” he says and shifts a little. “What do you do that gives you the time to work out as much as you do?”

“Well,” Steve says and looks back at him. “I'm a security guard at Panther Tech. You know T'Challa and his sister Shuri's company, right?”

“I'm familiar,” Bucky says with a nod. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Steve echoes, sending him a smile. “I work the night shift and I don't sleep much, so it gives me the day to do whatever I want.”

“Like work out an insane amount,” Bucky teases.

“That,” Steve says, chuckling. “And I like to draw.”

Bucky raises both brows. “Yeah?”

“Don't look so surprised,” Steve says with a snort. “I do have hobbies that don't involve working out.”

“You don't really look it, to be honest.”

“Don't let the workout clothes I'm wearing right now fool you.”

“I was actually talking about your muscles.”

Steve's smile turns teasing. “Oh yeah? You've been looking at my muscles, Bucky?”

Bucky flushes and attempts to cover it with a deadpan stare. “It's hard not to notice them, idiot,” he says.

“And,” Steve drawls, leaning a little closer. “Do you like them?”

“I'm not gonna gush about your muscles,” Bucky says and pointedly ignores the blush that rises to his cheeks.

“Okay,” Steve says and leans back again. He pauses for a moment, then continues. “What do you like to do?”

Bucky shrugs and says, “Sleep.”

Steve gives him a flat look. “Come on,” he says. “Tell me about yourself.”

Bucky pauses for a long minute, eyes flickering between Steve's. “Why?” he asks finally.

Steve lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Because I'm interested,” he says.

Bucky hums, narrows his eyes slightly, and asks, “What's your deal?”

Steve's smile fades. “What?”

“Your deal,” Bucky repeats. “Why are you so set on making me like you?”

A pretty pink color dusts over Steve's cheeks while a small, bashful smile appears on his lips.

“You seem like a great person,” he says. “And, you're handsome.”

Bucky blinks, flushing.

“Why wouldn't I try to get you to like me?” Steve continues. “Handsome fella like you, I would only be so lucky to succeed.”

Bucky stares at him. Steve sounds so sincere that it almost makes Bucky believe him but he still feels like he needs to pinch himself. He lets his hand fall under the table and pinches the meat of his thigh between his index finger and thumb. It stings.

“And the, uh...” He shifts a little, awkwardly. “The arm... or, well.... lack of one... it doesn't bother you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Steve doesn't hesitate to say, then frowns at him. “Does it bother _you_?”

Bucky pauses.

He misses having two arms sometimes, everything is so difficult with just the one. Sometimes he still wakes up and thinks he has two arms, even though he spend months in physical therapy getting used to being slightly off balance and getting used to the lack of weight on his left side. Sometimes he'll stare at his scarred stump and hate everything about it.

Yeah, it does bother him.

Sometimes.

He's working on it.

“I have trouble eating ice cream, Steve,” he says instead.

Steve snorts and then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, as if to stop himself from laughing even though his shoulders shake with it anyway. His eyes widen comically, and Bucky finds himself smiling a little.

“I'm sorry,” Steve says behind his hand, laughter in his voice although he's clearly trying to hide it. “I didn't mean to–”

“I fall over constantly,” Bucky says, cutting him off. “My center of gravity has moved, Steve. Do you know how difficult it is to get used to that? Sometimes I forget I don't have a left arm and then oops, there I go again.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs. Bucky smiles at him, even when Steve tries to apologize in between laughs.

Maybe this guy isn't so bad, after all.

He still dresses like a frat boy, though.

 

★ ★ ★

 

After they finish their coffees, they don't get up right away. They stay seated and talk for another half hour, which is a long time but Bucky barely even notices it pass by. Steve is easy to talk to, he learns, and despite his initial first impression of the guy, he's actually pretty nice.

Bucky thinks he could end up really liking him, if he lets himself. And that's terrifying.

When they leave, Bucky raises his hand in a silent goodbye to Scott who waves back. Before they part ways outside, Steve asks for his number and Bucky hesitates for all of three seconds before he says _sure_ and gives it to him.

Steve leaves, a smile on his lips that lights up the rest of him, and Bucky stays rooted to the ground, staring after him with a pounding, warm feeling in his chest that he's too scared to identify. He has a good idea of what it could be, though.

Days pass and Bucky quickly learns that Steve is as ridiculous over text as he is in person. He sends a lot of pictures and more often than not is it of nature because he really is an outdoorsy person, just like Sam said. Sometimes Steve sends him a selfie, always with a big smile on his face and occasionally looking sweaty and flushed after a run.

Once, he sends Bucky a picture of an opened sketchbook with a drawing of an elderly woman. She's beautiful, as is the drawing. Bucky tells him as much and asks him to draw him something.

Steve draws him a cat with its head stuck in an ice cream bucket, sends it with a kissy face.

Bucky hates him. He saves the picture anyway.

 

★ ★ ★

 

“Hey, Buck Teeth! Catch!”

Bucky instinctively raises his hand and catches the soda can that was thrown to him. He looks at it, then looks over at Sam who flops down on the other end of the couch, cracking open his own can and sending him a smile.

“I don't have buck teeth,” Bucky says as he wedges the can between his knees to crack it open.

It's been a quiet week since his coffee hang out with Steve. He hasn't been doing much, lazing around in his bed while texting with Steve and sending Sam memes and gossip to be salty over together.

He has, however, been going outside at least once a day. Apparently seeing both the people he communicates with daily being outside so often is motivation enough for him. He still hates it, though. It's boring. But worth it in the end, he reminds himself more often than he can keep track of.

“I know,” Sam says and grabs the remote that's stuffed between the couch cushions. “But it's your new nickname.”

Bucky makes a face at him. “I hate it.”

“Deal with it,” Sam says and shoots him a grin.

“I'm gonna call you Bird Shit, then.”

“Bugger.”

“Manual Samuel.”

“Like the game?”

“Yep.”

“That's a weak one.”

“Exactly.”

Sam kicks his thigh, and Bucky glares at him when it nearly makes him drop the open soda can. Sam smiles back at him, an amused glint in his eye. Bucky kicks him back, although it's less of a kick and more of a shove with his foot.

“Try another one,” Sam says, chuckling.

Bucky sighs and falls back against the couch. “I don't have one,” he says.

Sam scoffs and says, “Lame.”

“Shut up and put on a movie already, or whatever.”

Sam does, scrolling through Netflix for a couple of minutes before he settles on a movie that they've already watched together three times now. It's a good one so neither of them care, both making themselves comfortable on the couch and sipping at their soda cans.

They make it about twenty minutes into the movie before Sam breaks the silence, turning to him and nudging him with his toe to get his attention.

“By the way,” he says. “Nat is throwing a get-together for her girlfriend tonight. Apparently she got a promotion and Nat wants to celebrate. Small thing, just a handful of people, but I thought I'd extend the invite to you, if you wanna come.”

Bucky makes a face and says, “I don't even know 'em.”

“Steve is gonna be there.”

Slowly, Bucky looks from the television to Sam. He stares for a long, silent moment, then he groans and rolls his eyes.

“I don't care,” he says, slouching.

“You do,” Sam says. “Deny it all you want but you like him.”

“I don't,” Bucky lies.

“Liar,” Sam says. “I know you've been texting him, which you wouldn't do if you didn't like him.”

“I text him to get dirt on you.”

“Oh, right. I'm sure that's why Steve lights up like the damn sun when you text him.”

Bucky hates how much that delights him, hates that it makes him smile a little, and despises that Sam sees him biting back said smile. Sam grins knowingly at him, nudging him and wagging his brows suggestively.

“Steve and Bucky,” Sam sing-songs. “Sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s–”

Bucky throws a pillow at his head, cutting him off.

Sam shoves the pillow to the floor and resurfaces with a laugh that gets even louder when Bucky starts glaring daggers at him. The laughter dies after a minute and Sam calms down again, wiping under his eyes and letting out a heavy breath as the laughter fades out into chuckles.

“I don't like him,” Bucky says when Sam has fallen silent.

Sam looks at him for a long moment, then he says, “Prove it.”

Bucky stares at Sam and Sam raises his brows back challengingly.

Five hours later, Bucky finds himself in Sam's apartment, nursing a nearly full bottle of beer in a room full of people he doesn't know. From here, he can see Sam standing with T'Challa's arm thrown over his shoulders and he recognizes Natasha who's standing with who he assumes is her girlfriend, Sharon.

 _Just a handful of people, my ass,_ Bucky thinks bitterly and glares over at Sam.

Sam doesn't notice, only laughs and leans into his boyfriend.

Bucky lifts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a sip, letting his eyes drift away from the traitor and over the rest of the party attendees. There aren't actually that many people but he doesn't know any of them, which is the problem. All of them seem engrossed in conversation with someone else or several others, friendly and familiar.

Bucky feels out of place here. It hits him like a ton of bricks the more people he sees having a good time while he's standing in the corner by himself, wishing he was back home in bed.

He should never have let Sam pester him into coming.

His eyes keep drifting but he pauses instantly when he spots a blond head of hair and a sunshine smile peeking out between a small group of people like morning light shining in through closed curtains.

Steve.

He's standing with a few people around him, a woman with an amused look on her face and a shaved head to his immediate right. He's smiling but he looks tired. Bucky can see it even from the distance between them; Steve's smile is still as big as it always is but there's something faded about it.

Bucky keeps his eyes on him, even when Steve turns and meets his eye from across the room. Steve smiles toothily at him, and Bucky pretends his cheeks don't heat up because of it.

He stands up a little straighter and squares his shoulders when Steve makes his way over toward him, taking a long swig of beer because his throat is suddenly dry. Not that it helps but, well, it's worth a shot. He can't let Steve (or anyone, for that matter) know that he's a little freaked out by the amount of strangers here, after all.

“Hey,” Steve says and leans against the wall next to Bucky, a smile on his lips. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Sam invited me,” Bucky says with a half shrug. “Well... _dragged_ is probably more accurate.”

Steve chuckles and says, “Well, I'm glad he did.”

“Me too,” Bucky says flatly. “I love standing around in a room full of people I don't know.”

“I take it you don't wanna be here,” Steve says and shuffles a little closer.

“You'd be right,” Bucky says. “But at least I can steal the food and booze, so there's that.”

“There's that,” Steve echoes, pausing briefly. “If you wanna leave, I can let Sam know. I'll even let you take whatever food and booze you want.”

Bucky pauses. He considers it for a moment but then he takes a good look at Steve and sees the near hopeful look in his eyes, the way he's gnawing on his bottom lip and slowly shuffling closer and closer to him.

“Nah,” he says after a pause. “Maybe I'll stay, just for a bit.”

Steve grins at him and asks, “Because of me?”

Bucky scoffs. “You wish, pal,” he says.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I do. If you stayed for me, I'd be one hell of a lucky guy.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him, an uncertain smile forming on his lips. Steve is flirting with him, he's not dumb enough not to see that. Actually, he doubts there has ever been a time since they met where Steve _hasn't_ been flirting with him.

He's not sure how to feel about that. It feels... warm.

“You're drunk,” he says when Steve shifts closer.

“I haven't had a sip of alcohol,” Steve says.

“You're literally holding a beer.”

Steve looks down at his hand where he is, truthfully, holding a half empty bottle of beer.

“Well, will you look at that,” he says, feign surprise.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes. He looks away from Steve with a shake of his head and a smile on his lips that he pretends isn't fond even though he knows it definitely is. He tries to hide it by taking a sip of his own beer but, judging by the soft smile on Steve's lips, he doesn't hide it quick enough.

Even as Steve shifts to stand right next to him, their shoulders brushing, Bucky doesn't look at him. He keeps his eyes on everyone else in the apartment, briefly making eye contact with Sam who winks at him.

Bucky glares back and makes a mental note to kick his ass, but that's for later.

He looks around, absently fidgeting with the neck of his beer bottle. He doesn't know what triggers it but suddenly his heartbeat picks up, his palm feels sweaty, and the air around him feels too thick. He doesn't want to be here, there are too many people that he doesn't know, and he can't really see the door from here.

He doesn't want to be here, he needs to get out.

The beer gets pulled out of his hand and his wrist gets grabbed and before he even realizes it, he's breathing in fresh air and grabbing onto the railing of the balcony that he was dragged out onto. He takes in a few steadying breaths, eyes closed and head bowed, while the voices of the get-together inside disappear when the door closes.

It takes a couple of minutes but, eventually, Bucky can breathe right again. He lets out a heavy breath and turns around to rest his lower back against the railing, running his hand through his hair to push it back and away from his face. He keeps his eyes on the ground, staring down at the dark brown shoes in front of him.

“Thanks,” he lets out in a breath.

“Anytime,” Steve says. “You okay?”

Bucky nods, swallows, and says, “Yeah. Sorry. Guess I got, I don't know. Overwhelmed, maybe.”

“Don't apologize,” Steve says and steps over to stand next to him, space between them. “It's not your fault, it's not like you can control it.”

“I'm working on it,” Bucky says, more of a reminder to himself because he is. Some days are just better than others and some things are easier than others.

“I know,” Steve says. “And I think you're doing great.”

Bucky scoffs.

“You are,” Steve says, firmly this time. “You're getting out of bed and out of your apartment. You're stepping out of your comfort zone, obviously, and that's a good sign.”

“I've been home for almost a year, Steve,” Bucky says with a sigh, “It should be getting easier.”

Steve is silent for a second, then he asks, “Could you get out of bed at first?”

“Well, no but–”

“Then it is getting easier,” Steve interrupts with. “Getting out of bed is one of the hardest things and you do that. Maybe it's still hard but recovery is like climbing a mountain. Most days it's hard and you're almost too tired to keep going, and some days you _are_ too tired to keep going, which is when you rest and get your strength back. Other days are easier and you find out that climbing a mountain is fun. But no matter what, you keep going. Because once you reach the top and see that life has so much to offer, it'll be worth all the hard work.”

Slowly, Bucky lifts his gaze from the ground and looks at Steve.

“Do you give a lot of motivational speeches?” he asks.

Steve huffs and says, “Nah, I just know what it's like.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, prompting.

“Yeah,” Steve echoes and looks down. “I had, uh. Well, I guess you could say I had a rough childhood. My dad died when I was really young, so it was just me and my ma. We were poor and struggling a lot because of my health problems.”

Bucky frowns. “Health problems?”

“A whole laundry list of 'em,” Steve says. “Teenage years were even worse. I was bullied, got depression slapped in the face, and my mom got sick. She died when I was eighteen and I didn't really know what to do with myself, after that. I didn't have anyone else.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky says in a lowered voice.

“It was really hard for a long time,” Steve says, then looks at him and smiles softly. “But look at me now. I'm still here. Most days are okay, I'd even go as far as to say most days are good. I'm not at the top of the mountain but what I can see from here is beautiful.”

For a second, Bucky assumes that Steve is still talking metaphorically. But then he notices the soft look on Steve's face and that he's looking at him almost pointedly, his gaze holding meaning.

Bucky flushes, throat dry.

“Are you still talking about life?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “But I'm also talking about you.”

Bucky stares at him, face heating up with a growing blush. He can't make sense of this, can't figure out why the hell Steve would be into him of all people. There are so many other, better people on this planet yet Steve is interested in him, someone who's a broken mess with too many issues to list.

It makes no sense, but terrifies him more than it confuses him. Especially because he's interested too and can no longer deny it, not even to himself.

“Can I take you out?” Steve asks after a minute.

“What, like trash?”

Bucky cringes at himself the second the words are out of his mouth. At least Steve chuckles, his face only softening.

“Hey,” Steve says. “One man's trash is another man's treasure.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and says, “Shut up, you dork.”

“Seriously, can I?” Steve asks, smiling softly. “Take you out on a date, I mean.”

Bucky hesitates, fidgeting.

“I don't know,” he says in a mumble.

“Look, Bucky,” Steve says and turns bodily to him, expression serious. “I like you. I'm interested in you and would like to date you. But if you don't want that, then I'll back off. Do you need me to do that?”

Bucky sighs heavily and repeats, “I don't know.”

Steve nods, eyes dropping to the ground. He looks disappointed but not upset.

It still makes Bucky's heart squeeze, and not in a good way.

“How 'bout this,” Steve continues. “You think about it for however long you need to and then give me an answer when you're ready. How does that sound?”

“Steve,” Bucky says and gives him a look. “That doesn't exactly sound fair to you.”

“I don't care,” Steve says. “It's not about me, it's about you. I'm willing to wait because I think you're worth it. And don't argue with me, I'm too stubborn to change my mind.”

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes.

Steve smiles at him and asks, “What do you say?”

Bucky considers it, chewing on his bottom lip as he weighs his options.

“Okay,” he says after a minute. “I'll think about it.”

“Cool,” Steve says, a crooked smile on his lips. “Now, a little bird told me that you want dirt on Sam. I've got some, not a lot but some.”

It's ridiculous how quickly Steve changes the subject, as if they didn't just have the conversation that they did. But Bucky merely smiles and lets himself get roped into this new one, kind of relieved that moving on is so easy.

They talk for hours, although it doesn't feel like it. Bucky doesn't even realize how long it's been until he starts shivering. They don't go inside, though. Steve just wraps his arm around his shoulders, asks if it's okay, and then continues talking when Bucky nods, subtly leaning into him and telling himself it's for the warmth.

They stay out there until Sam pokes his head out and tells them that people have started to leave. There's a knowing smile on his lips but Bucky is too tired and too warm here with Steve to send him a glare or make any silent threats.

It's a pretty good night.

 

★ ★ ★

 

Bucky doesn't know how he ended up here, sitting on a blanket spread out on the grassy field of the park while he watches the people in front of him stretch or run around or, in one person's case, get tackled to the ground by an overeager, one eyed Labrador.

He recognizes most of the people in front of him from the get-together at Sam's a few days ago. Except back then they were more dressed, less shirtless, and looked less like they're about to run a marathon, not play in the park.

“I don't wanna be here,” Bucky says after he spots a shirtless Steve throwing a playful punch at another beefy but slightly taller blond.

“You get to look at sweaty, shirtless guys,” Sam says from where he's sitting next to him, stretching. “Yes, you do.”

Bucky turns to him with a pout and glare. He thinks about it, seriously considers getting up and leaving just to spite Sam, but then he looks back over at Steve who is now bumping fists with the same blond and a woman who's joined them. Steve's smile is bright when he looks his way.

Bucky huffs and doesn't move.

Sam laughs, nudges him, and gets up before Bucky has time to nudge him back. He leaves when Steve comes walking over, patting Steve on the shoulder as they pass each other and then quickly speeds up into a jog as he heads over to where T'Challa is standing in the middle of the field, stretching.

“Hey,” Steve says and crouches down next to Bucky, grabbing the bright blue frisbee that's laying near the cooler. “You wanna join us for a round of frisbee?”

Bucky gives him a flat look and says, “I've only got one arm.”

“So?” Steve asks with a shrug. “Clint's deaf. Thor only has one eye. Sam has a bad leg. I've got asthma and a crooked spine. Don't let your disability stop you.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek, says nothing.

“Now,” Steve continues as he stands. “If you don't actually _want_ to play, that's a different story.”

“I think I'd rather watch, actually,” Bucky says after a pause.

“Okay,” Steve says and smiles at him. “Let me introduce you to the players, then.”

Thor is the beefy blond that Steve was talking to earlier. His right eye is covered by a dark patch, his smile is bright and toothy, and his voice is strong and booming when he introduces himself. His hair is long and pulled into a neat bun that rests on the nape of his neck. Bucky is a little jealous of it, actually.

The woman with Thor greets him next. She says her name is Brünnhilde, though the back of her jersey says Valkyrie and, as far as Bucky has heard, everyone calls her Val. She tells him not to touch the beer in the cooler and Bucky decides to not even think about it when she gives him a warning look.

He thinks he'll like her.

Bucky already knows Sam, T'Challa, and Natasha and he briefly met Sharon at the get-together, although they didn't get to talk for very long. They don't really get to here either, because Natasha hops onto her girlfriend's back and steals her attention away from Bucky after barely two minutes. Not that he minds that much, anyway.

Clint doesn't get much of a chance to properly introduce himself before Bucky gets a lapful of an overeager Labrador who, he gets told, is named Lucky and is Clint's dog. His service dog, to be precise, but he's not working at the moment so Bucky pets him until he runs off again, chasing the frisbee when it gets thrown.

The last one is Wanda who's quite a bit younger than the rest of them. They only get to talk for a couple of minutes before Steve calls out for her to come join them because apparently the game is starting. She's nice though, Bucky learns that much. She seems like a good kid.

Never in his life did Bucky think he would ever find a game of frisbee entertaining but here he is anyway. Maybe it's because of the way these people make a simple throw-and-catch kind of game into something that looks almost like a fight or maybe even a dance, even when Lucky gets a hold of the frisbee and they have to chase after him to get it back.

Steve, though. Bucky's eyes keep drifting back to Steve.

And yes, it's partially because the guy is shirtless and Bucky is gay, but it's also because this guy is even more ridiculous than Bucky thought. He's... well, the internet part of Bucky's brain tells him that Steve is _extra_ when he plays frisbee and the other part of his brain agrees. Because he is, he really is.

Steve is laser focused on the frisbee at all times, playing with such an intensity that is actually pretty hot. But he jumps and twirls in the air before tossing the frisbee across the field, and it's both graceful and fucking ridiculous.

Bucky thinks it's obnoxious.

He hates that he loves it, anyway.

It doesn't take more than twenty minutes before Sam comes limping back over toward him, panting and throwing himself onto the blanket with his bad leg stretched out. Bucky takes his eyes off the playing field to look at him, raising a brow in a silent question.

“This was a bad idea,” Sam says and groans as he sits up to massage his shin.

“I could've told you that before you started,” Bucky says. “Did you ever think it was a _good_ idea?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam says and shoots him a look. “I don't let my bad leg stop me from having fun.”

“I'm sure the pain's worth it,” Bucky says dryly.

“Well,” Sam says and lays back with a grunt. “I'll get back to you on that.”

Bucky snorts and looks back at the others with a shake of his head. He watches as Steve catches the frisbee and is then immediately tackled by T'Challa and Brünnhilde, the three of them falling to the ground in a bundle of laughs.

They get up quick though and the frisbee gets passed on to Sharon who passes it on to Wanda. Bucky keeps his eyes on Steve, watches him bounce in place like an excited puppy.

“Is he always like this?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself.

“Is who always like what?” Sam asks and peers up at him.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Is he always this...”

“Excited?” Sam supplies when Bucky trails off. “Acting like an overeager golden retriever?”

Bucky huffs in amusement and looks down at him. “Yeah,” he says.

“Nah,” Sam says. “Actually, he's pretty calm most days. And he's the polar opposite on a bad day.”

Bucky frowns down at him. “Bad day?”

“Yeah, man,” Sam says. “We've all got them.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Bucky says. “But, ah. What's he like, then?”

“Like I said, he's the polar opposite of right now. Doesn't leave his room, doesn't say anything, he basically shuts down completely. And don't even get me started on when he's angry, _genuinely_ angry. That shit's terrifying.”

Bucky blinks, frown deepening. He turns back to look over at Steve who has a wide and toothy smile on his face as he slaps a double high five to both of Sharon's flat palms. He radiates joy, shining so bright that he could easily be mistaken for the sun itself. It's hard to imagine him as anything but that.

Then again, Bucky doesn't really know him all that well. He finds that he really wants to, though.

He curses low to himself when he realizes what he has to– _wants_ to do.

 

★ ★ ★

 

The game of frisbee ends and the sweaty, panting people join them on the blanket. The cooler gets opened, cold drinks get passed around, and they all rest and relax and talk for the next hour or two before they decide to pack it up, gray clouds warning for bad weather on the sky.

Bucky waits until the rest of them have left before he goes over to Steve who's hoisting a bag now packed with everything they used (except for the cooler, that was Brünnhilde's) over his shoulder and standing back up. He's wearing a shirt now, hair swept back but still messy from the sweating.

Bucky kind of wants to kiss him.

“Uh,” he starts intelligently and smiles crookedly when Steve looks his way. “I'm no expert on any kind of frisbee game but, uh. That looked kind of extreme. Also, I have no idea who won.”

Steve laughs and says, “It's our own take on the game. None of us really play by the rules so we kind of make it up as we go. It's fun. You should join us next time, if you want.”

“Maybe,” Bucky says with a shrug. “But c'mon, who won?”

Steve turns to him with a smug grin and starts walking backwards, arms spread out.

“The best,” he says.

“If that's supposed to mean you,” Bucky says and follows him, “I don't believe you.”

Steve scoffs and slaps the back of his hand to Bucky's chest, twisting around so they're walking side by side as they head out of the park. They walk in silence for a while, Bucky shooting Steve a look with raised brows because he still hasn't gotten an answer.

“Val won,” Steve says, finally. “She pretty much wiped the floor with the rest of us.”

Bucky laughs, more because of the pout that Steve gives him than the actual answer.

When they exit the park, they walk down the street without a word. Bucky's nervous, he can't deny that. He keeps repeating the question that he wants to ask Steve over and over again in his head while simultaneously telling himself to say it out loud instead.

It takes him a while but when they're about to part ways, he takes a chance.

“Sam tells me you're terrifying when you're angry,” is what comes out of his mouth.

Steve stiffens immediately and turns to him. In the blink of an eye, his face falls. He looks almost sad, maybe a little embarrassed and ashamed too.

“Uh,” he says. “I'm working on that.”

“You have problems,” Bucky says bluntly.

Steve rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw with what is clearly annoyance, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He's getting riled up, it's pretty obvious and way too easy.

“Yeah, I know,” he says tightly.

“Go out with me.”

Steve blinks and suddenly the building annoyance washes out of his face. Surprise takes its place as he turns back to him, eyes wide. It takes barely a second before there's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and he starts to brighten again.

“What was that?” he asks, taking half a step closer.

Bucky flushes, glares at him, and says, “Don't make me repeat that, just say yes.”

“Yes,” Steve says and smiles at him.

After a moment, Bucky smiles back.

 

★ ★ ★

 

Steve takes him to the zoo, of all places. Somehow he manages to get them in on a day where the crowds aren't too bad or too big but the weather is still reasonably nice. Bucky doesn't ask how, he just lets Steve stay close on his left side and enjoys looking at the animals.

It's a nice first date. They talk occasionally, in between going to the different animals, and while Bucky only has one hand and not being able to use it makes him anxious, he lets Steve hold it for a while anyway. He finds that he likes it, like the feelings of Steve's hand holding a firm yet gentle grip on his as they walk side by side.

They take pictures too and Bucky ends up filling his phone with just about every animal they stop by and several zoomed in pictures of Steve's face because he can't stop himself. He even lets Steve take a selfie of the two of them in front of the rhinos.

It's nice. Bucky likes it– likes _him_ , a lot.

They leave when closing time nears and take the subway back to town where Steve walks him home, their conversation casual and never ending and pleasant the whole way. Bucky feels himself gravitating closer and closer to Steve the further they walk and by the time they reach his apartment building, Steve has his arm wrapped around his waist and Bucky is laughing at something he said.

“Thank you for letting me take you out,” Steve says when they're standing in front of Bucky's apartment. “I had a really great time.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says and shrugs. “I guess it was okay.”

“You had a great time too,” Steve says and steps closer. “Don't lie.”

“Alright, fine, it was pretty good,” Bucky says and smiles at him. “But you've set the bar pretty high for yourself now, hope you know that. It's gonna be hard to impress me next time.”

Steve moves closer, smiles at him, and asks, “So there's gonna be a next time?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I'd like that.”

Steve hums in agreement and shifts closer and closer until there's barely half a step between them. Bucky can feel his heart pounding in his chest, can hear it in his ears, not only because of the closeness but because he notices that Steve is looking at his lips rather than his eyes. He instinctively wets them and swallows, but he doesn't move.

Steve reaches up and tugs a lock of hair behind Bucky's ear, then he cups his cheek and brushes a thumb over his cheekbone in a gentle sweep. His eyes flicker over his face briefly before they finally stop and lock with Bucky's.

The air around them feels heavy, electric. Bucky wants to tug him closer and kiss him.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks in a whisper, as if he's reading Bucky's mind.

Bucky nods, a little desperately, and breathes, “Please.”

Steve kisses him and it feels like heaven. Their first kiss is soft and gentle, a mere press of lips, but it makes Bucky desperate for more, clutching at the front of Steve's shirt and kissing him back with a certain desperation that Steve doesn't fully reciprocate.

Steve kisses like he does so much else; passionately and like there's nothing else in the world for him, and Bucky melts into it.

The kiss doesn't get a chance to last for very long or be anything but soft before Steve pulls back. He doesn't go far, only enough to separate their lips, their breaths still mingling and noses still touching.

“Okay?” Steve asks in a breathy whisper, his lips ghosting over Bucky's.

“I swear,” Bucky says, eyes closed and hand tightening its grip on Steve's shirt, “if you don't kiss me again right now, I'm gonna fucking kill you.”

Steve chuckles but does as he's told and kisses him again. Bucky kisses him back without a second of hesitation and runs his hand up along Steve's shirt until he can wrap his arm around his neck and drag him closer. With a tilt of his head, he deepens the kiss and lets out a low moan when Steve lets it.

They end up making out against the door to Bucky's apartment, sprinting past the line of inappropriate. Until, that is, someone pointedly clears their throat behind them and reminds them that they aren't in a private setting where this can go any further.

They jump apart and Bucky nearly laughs when he sees how red Steve's face is. He does snort though and smiles when Steve turns a displeased glare at him. The glare doesn't last very long and the second they're alone again, they start laughing.

“Next time,” Steve says, chuckling as he grabs Bucky by the hips and kisses him briefly, “maybe we should take it inside.”

Bucky hums, kisses him back, and says, “Next time, yeah.”

It takes another several minutes before Steve detaches himself from Bucky, but he does eventually. He leaves with one last kiss and a promise to text him. Bucky watches him go, a happy flutter in his stomach and a smile on his lips.

He's glad he did this, glad that he allowed himself something good for once.

 

★ ★ ★

 

Bucky has only just managed to make himself a sandwich with a minimal amount of mess on the counter and is about to pour himself some juice from the fridge when there's a series of knocks on the door leading into his apartment. He groans, annoyed even though he already knows who it is. That knocking has become familiar over time, after all.

He puts the juice carton down with a heavy sigh and heads toward the door, rolling his eyes when the knocks sound again but this time in a melody. By the time he reaches out for the door to pull it open, however, there's a soft smile on his lips and it only grows when the person on the other side is revealed.

“Hey, boyfriend,” Steve greets him and steps in with a smile.

“Hey, asshole,” Bucky greets him back and leans in to kiss him.

They've been dating for almost a month now but it wasn't until recently that they became official and exclusive. Since then, Steve has taken to greet him in this exact way, calling him boyfriend like it's a form of endearment for him now.

Bucky doesn't mind it. In fact, he likes it more than he thought he would.

“Have you been up for long?” Bucky asks and closes the door again.

Steve is already heading for the kitchen and Bucky hurries to follow him, shoving him away before he can grab the sandwich sitting on the counter. Steve pouts at him a little but holds up his hands in surrender and leans against the counter instead.

“Couple hours,” Steve says. “Went for a run with Sam after I got up.”

Bucky pours himself a glass of juice and asks, “And how many times did you lap him this time?”

“Three,” Steve says and grins smugly at him.

Bucky snorts. “You're an asshole,” he tells him.

“You like it,” Steve says and leans toward him.

“Lucky for you,” Bucky says and leans over, “I do.”

They meet halfway in a kiss, Bucky stepping into Steve's space and pressing himself flush against him. He rests his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, while Steve's hands find a place on Bucky's hips, holding him close as they kiss.

“Has anyone ever told you,” Bucky asks against Steve's lips, “that you dress like a frat boy?”

Steve pulls back and looks at him, brows raised and the corners of his lips curling up a little.

“A frat boy,” he repeats. “Really?”

“Steve,” Bucky says, serious. “You are literally wearing your cap backwards right now.”

“So? What, do you not like my clothes?”

“They're terrible and I hate it.”

Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs. He opens his mouth, probably to say something that will ultimately lead to bickering, but then he pauses suddenly and his lips twist into a grin. The hands on Bucky's hips snake around to rest just above his ass, pulling him closer.

“Do you want me to take it off?” Steve asks in a lowered, husky voice.

Bucky blinks, staring at him for a moment. Then he groans and shoves himself out of Steve's arms With a shake of his head, he turns around and heads toward the small, closed off bedroom in the apartment.

Behind him, Steve laughs but doesn't move.

“You better be following me, frat boy!” Bucky calls over his shoulder.

A beat passes, then Bucky smiles when he hears rushed footsteps come toward him. He lets himself get tackled onto the unmade bed by two-hundred-forty pounds of asshole dressed like a frat boy, his laughter getting cut off when Steve kisses him heatedly.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable post on [tumblr](http://halerogers.tumblr.com/post/170950372258).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life!


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